


Soft Through the Night

by BipLing



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Old Friends, Reunions, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 08:11:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20542910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipLing/pseuds/BipLing
Summary: Erron meets a lady that seems oddly... familiar. (no it's not his apparent daughter) Old Friends Reunite, Romance Ensues.





	Soft Through the Night

**Author's Note:**

> anyway I gave Erron a tragic backstory I guess lmaooo like yeah he's a misogynist but listen... trans rights. i kinda wanna make this a series but we'll see

Erron was never one for the glitz and glamor of city life. The buildings were like walls closing in on him, stifling his oversized ego. He’s a hell of a lot of man and it’s not his damn problem if people didn’t like it. It’s part of the reason he tends to life on his own. People only get in his way. He’s never had much of a future planned, going the path less traveled. Chaos suits him well and he lives the lifestyle with pride. He goes where his jobs need him to be. No questions asked. All he needs at the end of the day is a fat wad of cash in hand. At least he that’s what he tells himself.

So why in the goddamn is he sitting at a bar in a shitty city, nursing a drink like some sad fuck? No amount of money can buy the real things a man needs. Even a bastard like Erron Black has desires outside of monetary gain. Sure, he could pay for a girl, but he prefers more of a natural approach. Something to show himself he’s still got charm. The little hole in the wall has crap lighting and crap music, but it’s not what he’s here for. He scopes out the men and women that enter the fine establishment, but none of them draw Erron’s eye. Other than the woman in the corner with her head hung low. She’s the only one who refuses to meet the gunslinger’s sharp eye. She stares at the glass set between her hands, auburn hair obscuring her face. He drains the rest of his whiskey and ambles over to her little booth. 

“Hey there, sugar.” His words come out a little less smooth than he hoped. She doesn’t acknowledge him. “Care for a drink?”

“You have eyes, right? I already have one,” she says in a voice fitting for a life in the city. A sliver of a southern twang slips through however. Despite her irritation, her voice is as soft as summer rain.

He drawls, “no need to bite my head off. I’m just tryin’ to be friendly.”

He catches a glimpse of her face at last, which is rather unamused to say the least. She’d be perfect if it weren’t for the long scar stretching over her left cheek. Underneath her worn trench coat a flash of red shows through. 

“Listen here, cowboy. I know your type - and it sure ain’t friendly.”

Erron splays his hands out, easing into the seat across from her. Her green eyes glower at him. “I sure can be friendly, darlin’,” he says. “When I wanna be. Now, why don’t you let me order you somethin’ with a bit more kick to it? I think it’d improve both our moods.”

“I’m good, but thanks.” She downs the rest of her drink, placing it on the edge of the table. “I don’t take drinks from strange men.”

He grits his teeth. “I’m tryin’ to be nice here. You’d look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“I grew up around men like you, always trying to get what they want with pretty words.” She laces her fingers together with hands much too slim and delicate to belong to a criminal. He fails to spy a ring.

He leans over the table. “That’s where you’ve got me mixed up. I don’t need a siren song to get what I want - I take it.”

The woman’s smile is a breath of spring air. Erron takes it as a challenge. Despite her previous objections, he orders a round of shots for them. They’re not exactly the strength he’s used to in Outworld, but they’ll do. He expects her to loosen up after a few shots, but she’s not as much of a lightweight as he thought. At least the soft glow in her cheeks makes her that much prettier. 

“So what’s your name?” he asks. She chokes out a laugh at him. He bristles at the sound. “I said-”

“No need to spin out there. The name’s Jolene.”

Erron puts on a self-satisfied smirk, letting himself relax. The soft leather of the booth grows more comfortable as the night goes on.

“So what’s your story?” Jolene asks. Her coat slips further from her shoulders, revealing the straps of a halter top dress.

“Why, I’m just a man, like any other.”

“A man who kills for a living.”

“Now, who went and told you that horse shit?” He presses a hand to his chest. “Nothing wrong with a dishonest living long as you stay honest.”

“You tell yourself that every morning in the mirror?”

“The only thing I use a mirror for is to remind myself how much of a handsome devil I am,” he says. “What about you? I’m sure you’ve got a skeleton or two in your closet.”

She downs another shot. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

Erron moves to her side, Jolene making room for the rowdy cowboy. They sit shoulder to shoulder. 

“What about that lil scar a’yours?” 

“It’s not exactly ‘lil’ now is it?” 

“You know what I meant.” He dares to get a better look at the little red dress of hers. Sequins glint pink in the light. “Where’re you headed off to?” he pauses, “and can I come?” 

This makes her giggle, a heartfelt sound that reminds him of… someone. A lighter, softer time. Fireworks go off in his head. A burst of color that fills his night sky. 

“If you need to know, I was just coming from a party. Pretty boring for my tastes,” she says. “So I thought I’d spend the rest of my night here.”

He cracks a sly grin. “Why don’t we throw a lil party of our own, Darlin? Show off that dress of yours a bit more?”

Jolene tucks hair back off her face. “I’m sure you’d love to see more than just my dress, cowboy.”

“Well, that’s a given,” he says. Erron leans over the table to keep their smoky conversation private. The black lights shine down on them, casting them in a warm red glow. “I have somewhere real close we can stop by.”

Erron pays their combined tabs, as any proper gentleman would. It’s not like he wants to shave off any extra time to get this dame back to the apartment he’s holed up in. Of course not. The thrill of the chase is like a high to him. It’s like he’s on one of his many jobs, risking an arm and a leg for a sweet, sweet payoff. He’s sure this Jolene will be almost as sweet as the cash lining his pockets. 

They take off into the brisk city night among the neon lights glaring down on them. She tugs her coat tighter around her and Erron does something very unlike himself; offering the tight leather jacket he wears. It must be the alcohol getting to him.

“I’ll be fine,” she insists.

Erron wastes no time in getting her back to the apartment. She takes her time in pretending to admire the bland decor. He gives it a minute for her to settle in, watching her from the comfort of the armchair by the window. The shades are drawn. Jolene unravels, loosening her trench coat, the fabric hanging off her shoulders. She sits on the end of the couch farthest from him, curling up like a cat. They hold each other’s gaze, the nightlife buzzing outside the windows. The tension rises. Erron itches to get out of these fucking clothes and get to business. Usually, when he brings someone back here, they can’t get enough of him, but she’s unimpressed by his cocky air. Almost as if she’s been around it. A burst of glitter explodes in his eyes. More fireworks.

“Have we met before?” he asks, rubbing his chin. “I just can’t shake this feelin’ that I’ve seen you somewhere.”

She smiles and her dress shimmers like thousands of diamonds. It stops mid-thigh. Short. Just how he likes ‘em. Less fabric to fuck around with. He can’t wait to snap those straps with his teeth.

“We might have,” Jolene says. “But as they say, it’s a small world. And the world is a cruel place.”

“Amen to that.”

Her mood shifts, stretching her bare legs out, kicking her heels off. A forlorn expression dims her brightness. She looks like she might just cry. Not that Erron cares much. He’s never been one for the mushy, sappy shit. But for this woman, he might just bend that rule a smidge.

“What’s eatin’ you?”

She forces out a laugh. “What do you care? You only want to fuck me.”

“...Well, sure I do. But it’s no fun if you’re not into it.”

Jolene asks a peculiar question, one he’s gotten multiple times before. “Do you ever feel like you went wrong somewhere in life?”

He gives his usual answer. “I’m livin’ my life the way I want. There ain’t nothin’ wrong about that.” He pauses. “What makes you ask?”

She gives him a mixed look of admiration and longing. Jolene fidgets with her hair and dress, shrinking into herself. “Nothing. I’m just happy you’re making something of yourself.”

“Now what on earth do you mean by that?”

“Like I said, I mean nothing by it.” Her hair falls over back over her face. “But I take it you’re not gonna drop it, are you?”

Erron hates to be interrupted once he’s gotten comfy. He sinks further into the armchair. “I’m not in the mood to put up a fight tonight, lady.” He waves her over to his side of the room. “Why don’t you quit actin’ so coldly? It’s awful lonely over here.”

“I’m not falling for your sweet talk, Black. I’m staying right here.” Jolene folds her arms and refuses to budge. Erron has two routes he can go; either give in to this dame’s wishes or be the stubborn buck he’s always been. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he mulls it over. 

“You’re really going to make me get up, aren’t you?”

She raises a hand to stop him. “Oh, no, don’t get up on my account. I’m good where I am.”

Irritation pulses hard through his chest at her quip. He pushes out of his seat onto booted feet. Erron bends over her to examine her face. “Why do you have to be so fussy? They only get like this after the first time, so we must’ve met before. What’s your real name, Jolene?”

She leans away into the light. “It’s not nice to ask a girl all these personal questions.”

“I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but I’m not a nice man.”

Jolene grins into his face. “So you finally admit it.”

“What’re you tryin’ to make me admit?” He places his hands on the back of the couch above her shoulders and leans in. His silhouette covers her, her sequins still glint red. “That I’m a dirty sinner who needs to repent?” He coughs out a laugh. “I ain’t got nothin’ to be regretful for.”

“Nothing at all?” The sad look in her eyes comes back. The bravado drops like a curtain. “I guess you really are the filthy criminal everyone says you are. I just thought…” she trails off. “Forget it.”

“Thought what?” He grabs her by the shoulders. “That I’d puke out some sad sob story for you to cry over? That you can somehow fix me?” Erron sneers. “I don’t need fixin’, honey. Now, who the fuck are you?”

“You really don’t remember after all these years?” 

“Why should I?”

Jolene’s eyes grow wet and tears shine. “You don’t remember all that time we spent together in good old Wickett?”

“There was nothin’ fuckin’ good about that place. Maybe for a place to die and be forgotten, but that’s about it,” he scoffs. 

“We were friends. You don’t remember teaching me to shoot that gun of yours at old bottles and how some shard of glass nicked my face?” 

His eyes trace the jagged scar over her cheek. “Plenty of people got scars like yours. Plenty of people learn to shoot guns, too. That don’t prove nothin’.” 

She offers a hopeful grin. “I know it’s difficult to believe, but if you don’t think I’m the real deal, well… it was real nice seeing you again, Erron.” Jolene waits for him to remove his hands. But he doesn’t. A shadow casts over his face. “You can let go now.”

He shakes her. His emotions get the best of him and he cries despite himself. “What the fuck you tryna’ do to me? How do you know about her? The last I saw she was arrested. Booked for what I did!” Erron tears himself away from Jolene to stalk across the room, head in his hands.

“You killed your father, didn’t you?”

He whirls around on her, losing his composed attitude. “He fuckin’ deserved it! How the fuck did you even know about that?”

“You mean you don’t remember?”

The fireworks go off again. But instead of rhinestones raining down, a gunshot echoes in his ears. Blood splatters. His hands tremble just like that night. She comes over him like the sweetest rose-scent breeze to pull the smoking gun from his fingers. He cowers in her embrace. He’s too afraid to face what he’s done. 

“I’ll stay behind,” she says. “You don’t belong here.”

Like the coward he is, he runs. He flees from his mistakes and old life. But most importantly, he forgets the one thing he can’t replace no matter how much money he spends or how many one-night stands he has. He forgot the only friend he ever had. Tears pour down his face. Erron desperately tries to put himself back together. No matter how much he dabs at his eyes or how many tears he wipes away, he continues to leak. She stares at him without judgment. 

“Fuck, would you look at me.. Bawlin’ like a baby..”

“You don’t need to keep up the tough act, big guy.” Jolene offers him a hand to take. A gesture so soft he doesn’t believe it. He stands there, trembling, unable to break down his own walls. So she does it for him. She lowers his hands from his face and he mutters for her to stop. “Would you quit being so stubborn? I’m trying to help here - and I don’t want to hear about how you’re not worth it. Everyone’s got some good in them, don’t they?”

“‘Cept me. I’m as rotten as they come.” She shoots a look to shut him up. He only does it to get a rise out of her, grinning back at her. “I still can’t believe it… it’s like a dream. How’d you even find me?”

“You stick out like a sore thumb with that stupid hat of yours,” she says.

“Hey now, that’s a low blow. You don’t see me insultin’ your tacky outfit.”

“What do you want me to say? I was at a dumb little party.” She steps back and tugs at her dress. “I didn’t even get a dance out of it.”

“No man wanted to take a chance on you?”

Her eyes lower to the side, Jolene fidgets with her hair. “You should know no man wants a woman like me. They avoid me like the plague.”

It’s Erron’s turn to soothe her worries. He, rather awkwardly, places his hands along her waist. She actually lets him. “Now what have I always told you?”

Jolene puts on an accent to mock him. “‘People’s opinions don’t matter for shit,’ I know. But it still gets to me, y’know?”

He pulls her into a hug, the scent of her perfume and his cologne mixing. “I know. The only man that matters is right here, so you can forget about it for a while.” He pauses. “You still got some time to get a dance outta tonight if you like?”

“Since when did you know how to dance?” she asks.

He puts on a record on, dimming the lights before returning to her. The soft strum of an acoustic guitar echoes from the corner. “What matters is that I can try.” 

Jolene rests her hands around his neck, Erron keeping a firm grip around her waist as they slow dance. He’s rather uncomfortable, used to tunes with a bit more energy than a meandering jazzy classic. The man’s lazy voice winds around them as he sings. 

_...The moon went down, stars were gone..._

__

__

_...But the sun didn’t rise with the dawn…_

He gazes into her face in the low light. Erron Black cups her face in his rough hand. He lets his guard drop for the first time in years. It’s like dozens of little ribbons unwrapping around him. Even after all this time, he still has the same fragile young heart.

_...There wasn’t a thing left to say…_

__

__

_...The night we called it a day…_

They lean into a kiss, as smooth and cool as his favorite drink. The music fades to the hum of static. He holds her a bit tighter, letting his hands barely delve below the hem of her dress. 

“This too much? We don’t-” 

She cuts him off with a finger against his lips. “Shh.. shut up and kiss me again.”

He obliges her wish. Each kiss is like an explosion of stars on his lips; a sugary taste he can’t get enough of. It’s about time they get to the good part. He has a hard time kicking off his boots as he carries her into the bedroom. A spark fills his eyes, like the reflection of a roaring fire. It’s a thing he would never openly call love. But for the meantime, while it glows softly in the dark, he allows himself this one thing. It’s like a butterfly fluttering between his hands, a thing so delicate he dare not touch and break it. The only things he breaks that night are the straps of her dress. Whoops.


End file.
